Rust: The Terrifying Minecraft + DayZ Open World Survival Sim

It wasn’t. We both knew I’d made a mistake. In Rust, you never abandon someone you trust. Those people are too few.

I’d left Nigel alone in our new home, a sturdy wooden shack we’d spent two hours working toward. The sun was nearly down, and I’d been on a risky, last-minute resource run so he could craft metals. Metal makes doors. Metal makes bullets. Metal makes guns.

I took the long way back. When I found a vantage point in the bluffs behind our home, I had snuck up close enough to hear their voice chat. I could hear them screaming at Nigel.

Exit Theatre Mode

“We know you’re in there.”

“Come out. We want to talk to you.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Raiders are a scary thing. Rust doesn’t have a class system. It doesn’t assign roles, or skills, or even give players missions. Its open world, a sprawling landscape with dense forests and rocky wastelands, allows Rust’s players to become what they want. Hunters. Craftsmen. Societal leaders. Murderers.

It depends on the situation.

My first arrow missed its mark, kicking up dirt behind my target’s feet. Despite not having the usual first-person shooter crosshair to work with, I had become pretty good at killing deer from 50 yards out. Maybe the pressure got to me. The second arrow hit the looter’s stomach, and I immediately started running. I needed to lead them away from Nigel, who was in the middle of building our first 9mm sidearms. I needed to draw them away from our home, our stash, our riches.

They followed me. They caught up. All three of them had P250 pistols.

Fortresses like these inspire both fear and desire.

I respawned back at base, next to Nigel. He handed me a gun. The raiders were back. Apparently my arrow struck a nerve, too.

“You shot my friend,” said Rawrnold, the player who put the final bullet in my hip. “Come outside. We just want to talk.” I stashed my gun in a storage crate, stepped outside, and closed the door. Because it’s my door, I’m the only one who can open it. Nigel would probably be safe inside, and if I could lead them away, get them lost in the dark, it’d be worth it even if I died again. After all, I had a designated spawn point inside our luxurious Cro-Magnon apartment.

Rawrnold didn’t finish his first sentence before his cohort, Money, shot me in the face.

I’d lost nothing, and now there was tension within their group. Money was a trigger-happy newcomer to the crew, a clan recruit who didn’t know the rules, but had a thirst for blood. Rawrnold reclaimed the pistol he’d built for Money, and demanded I come out again.

“You’re coming with us,” their leader told me.

Torches let you see in the dark, but expose you to sly night raiders.

Rust is a semi-broken Early Access game on Steam, available for $20, that's difficult to recommend. It's challenging to learn and incredibly frustrating. Losing your entire character and most of his progress is frustrating when other bloodthirsty players kill you, or the development team -- responsible for Garry's Mod -- wipes the servers in an update.

But it's moments like this that make it utterly unforgettable, unlike many other games, and more interesting to me than Minecraft, DayZ, and other games that inspired it.

These emergent stories are the focus, and they're only possible because players are competing to create. The insane things that happen in your brief, dangerous life are so much less predictable than anything anyone could author in this world. Unpredictability is an invaluable element, and in a large space where players build defensible towns and armories for their people, you have something to work toward, to look up to, to fear.

Exit Theatre Mode

The trio escorted me across the night to their spectacular fortress. They knew I would be in awe. It was a multi-tiered structure with lookout points, a sentry tower, and a half-dozen doors I couldn’t penetrate without C4 explosives I only dreamed of affording.

They didn’t like that we’d encroached on their territory. We’d harvested the lumber, ore, stones, and other valuable, limited resources used for crafting. We’d looted the nearby bunkers for equipment like helmets, guns, and blueprints that let us learn better weapon recipes. I could see why they wanted it — to continue putting fear into folks like me.

Rawrnold, despite it all, seemed reasonable. That, or I experienced Stockholm Syndrome for the first time in a video game.

He let me go. He said “maybe we can team up sometime.” He didn’t come back for Nigel.

He did, however, raid our home when we’d logged off. We lost a door, a wall, and multiple guns we’d nearly died to build. Later, he’d say it was an “accident.” He didn’t know it was the same place. He gave me a stellar set of armor I’d never seen to call it even.

Rawrnold’s camp is still there, and the last time I saw it, a man with heavy weaponry was casing the place. I don’t think Rawrnold, Money, and their company are safe for very long.